In Spite
by wakesoul
Summary: A Gentleman Jack one-shot, AL/AW. Ann washes Anne's hair, but it's never just about washing hair, is it?


_Oh_, _what was the saying? _"If you want change, you must invite chaos," Anne reminded herself of this for another spell. Wincing in abject agony as another pass of soap doused the gravel rash burned into the top of her spine, the mantra scrolled across her vision, a nursery rhyme of sorts. She smacked the side of the tub to try and shake herself of the horrid stinging sensation; impact would always be a reset, wouldn't it?

Anne's brow pursed, her lips parted, she shook her head; the memory, _impact_, of another back alley scruff was too much– the scene forged on in her memory, and a pass of lukewarm water was to her wound.

Coming away from the local pub, Anne was on the fringe of Halifax's inner city limits, on her way home. A gruff hand caught her elbow mid-flight and she was violently thrown into a brick alley wall in the same motion. Two young men in tweed, college boys by the looks of them, railed into her sides with their fists and elbows, spitting and punching, ripping– they called her such _horrible _things. And when she could no longer stand, for her chest and abdomen were so badly bruised, Anne crumpled, huddling into her knees to protect herself; she could've run. She could've kicked and fought back, but she didn't today. When someone catches you off guard, you're not always prepared to respond with self-preservation. Responding to danger doesn't always work that way.

Her vision clouded, with physical or emotional pain Anne knew not– after they began kicking her she lost all sense of time. As she sought the shampoo, the reaching motion Anne tried for passed over several severely bruised parts of her obliques, and she screamed in pain; this shriek was not lost on Miss Walker. Taken by surprise, she rose so quickly from her place in the sitting room and all but sprinted up the stairs, straight for Anne's room.

She'd not known Anne's return home, so the sight of Miss Lister crumpled in her bathtub off to one corner came as a welcome surprise, until Ann saw the marks littering her beloved's slender form. Taken, in utter horror, Miss Walker rushed to the side of the tub. Her eyes scanned Anne's body beneath a harshly furrowed brow, her expression one of grave concern.

"Who did this to you?" It was a whisper that left Ann Walker's lips; hoarse, quivering. She might have been on the verge of tears, though it was unclear if these were shed in anger or sadness.

Anne turned away from her beloved in shame, not wanting to expose the scrapes and bruises on her face, "Some Oxford boys. Perhaps someone hired them; I'd not be surprised if a tenant was unhappy with my recent up-charge," the stiffness of her neck becoming too much to bear, Anne averted her gaze in front of herself, onto her kneecaps instead, "I suppose that's just the way of things now. When I asked to be ravaged this wasn't what I meant." The last of her sentence was delivered skyward, addressing her maker in admonishing humor. Good, that she still found reason to make light of so serious a situation. Miss Lister's good humor lightened the air some, but Miss Walker, ever-attentive, remained by her side. She reached over the lip of the tub, trying to find a line of eye contact with Anne; she settled for her hand instead, gripping it steadily, and continued to press.

"Might we find justice for what they've done to you? Just look at the bruises they've given you, Anne! Is there no retribution?" Ann's voice grew to twice its size, each syllable surpassing its cousin in volume until her once-soft lilt became an angry, shaken roar. It filled every corner of Miss Lister's room, shook Anne to her center. There'd been tussles before, and there would be more to come, but she'd never seen nor heard her love so taken with passion. Anne Lister was moved, and a tear rose to her lids, rolling away and onto her cheek. There was no answer that would suit the anger both women waded in. Anne bathed in it– her retribution was the peace in knowing the coming change. She spoke, but her voice was broken, beaten.

"If we want change, we must invite chaos, Miss Walker. These are family, two sides of the same coin," and here she met Ann's delicate stare, "who must always be in balance if we are to win out. I know our love will win one day, because it exists in spite of itself. Our candle may be covered, but our light burns brighter in spite of it. Because I am beaten does not mean I have lost confidence in my affection for you, for example." Anne smiled lightly to her love, genuinely, and squeezed her hand before letting go. The bath water beckoned, for her muscles were beginning to scream again, and she continued, "If our love did not exist in private, then I would begin to lose hope. But it continues, Ann, it just continues. Do not lose hope, and fear not for me. This costs so little of my pride."

Ann sat back, considering her partner's thoughts a moment. _What light would there be if others could not see it_? She thought, her hand idling on the lip of the tub. Ann knew celebration and change came from the act of being noticed; but Anne was indeed being noticed, and for who she was, as uncompromising as that could be. Was violence part of change, could it have been that Anne was to be some kind of martyr for the cause? Oh, but this mustn't be the only way; Ann settled for a mindset nearer to Miss Lister's peace. That other women…_like them, _might exist. That they might not know each other, and exist in quiet harmonies in spite of the stigmas in place to snuff them out; love exists in spite of violence:

"Love exists in spite of itself," Ann hummed, a smile spreading across her lips.

Anne's gaze on her softened, a glint rising in her eye as she looked upon her love, awash with understanding, "Perhaps it does, Miss Walker; I like to think so. It makes the world a little bit more tolerable on these days." As she said this, Anne made to shift to the other side of the tub, where the water was warmer, that her muscles might further relax from their shock. She tried to lift her body just so, but the pain was too much to bear, and she yelped loudly, her abdomen screaming and pulsing angrily at her. Miss Walker stiffened at this struggle, and braced herself to support Anne's weight before she could fall completely back into the shoulder-height water. Ann lifted her partner awkwardly, as best she could, and with their combined effort Anne managed to shift to the other side. She let out an exasperated huff as she settled to the back wall of the tub, the water rising in gentle waves to kiss her collarbone. Ann thought her so frail in this moment; Miss Lister had never been frail. She shook the thought away, dismissing it before it might fester any longer.

"You screamed before, when I came up to meet you. What were you trying to do?" Ann was on her knees again at the side of the tub, her hands perched on its lip. She looked upon Miss Lister's slender face expectantly.

Anne sighed, dejectedly stating her intent to wash her hair of the stones and dirt, and her trouble in reaching for the glass bottle of soap on the nearby wash tray. She'd had no trouble three days ago, but her intercostal muscles hadn't been railed into three days ago. Not missing a beat, Ann grabbed and lathered her lover's beautiful hair with this soap, just a few drops on the scalp. Her slender fingers worked methodically across what loose skin there was, massaging gently with force from her wrists out to her fingertips, all across Anne's skull. Ann dared not touch her neck, the raw spot there was much too fresh for a massage. The shampoo entirely worked through Anne's hair, Ann took up the wash pitcher and began to gently rinse. The suds cascaded down the blanket of Anne's brunette tresses in sheets; her lover's back was arched and neck away from her open wounds to keep more soap from further intrusion. Anne shivered all the while, though at peace with herself, with this moment. Much had already changed, she thought quietly.


End file.
